


The Risen Night

by magicianlogician12



Series: The Damsel, the Huntress, and the Scoundrel [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23526154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicianlogician12/pseuds/magicianlogician12
Summary: After a long and costly rebellion, Grand Magistrix Elisande is losing control of Suramar to the Nightfallen rebels, led by First Arcanist Thalyssra. Three nightborne champions--Thalianne Vyltras, Lucarys Evonti, and Alyseia Lumes--prepare to strike the final blow that will deny the Legion access to the Nightwell, but not all is as it seems in the depths of the Nighthold, and a war of subtleties is being fought right under their very noses--a war that could see the end of the Nightfallen rebels.
Series: The Damsel, the Huntress, and the Scoundrel [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693717
Kudos: 4





	1. A Cordial Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> A fic written with three of my nightborne OCs that I felt like posting for a change--technically part of what I had originally intended to be a full novelization of the Suramar storylines, some of the character details or context may be missing, but I felt like enough was understandable to risk posting anyway.

A grand magistrix’s time was invaluable, but never more so than with whispers of rebellion nipping at her heels like particularly insistent rats.

That was all they were, of course–rats, living in caves in the wilderness, slowly dying of their mana starvation and their fatal pride. Leaving them unchecked was out of the question, but they were not the threat that propaganda claimed they were. The Nightfallen ‘rebellion’ was a pitiful attempt to make a voice besides hers heard. Hers was the only one that mattered anymore. Some were slower to accept that truth than others. Some had yet to accept it at all.

Today, she would meet with one such individual.

In any other circumstance, Elisande would not set aside this time of hers to speak with  _ one _ person, arguably as insignificant as the rebels in their caves, but this would be educational, if nothing else.

Besides, family still meant something within the Nighthold’s walls, and what a poor sister she would be if she did not offer one chance at clemency.

Deep within the Nighthold’s heart, Elisande entered her quarters, her honor guard straightening as she passed. Alyseia sat patiently in her summoning chair, awaiting Elisande’s commands, head bowed in demure respect…or fear. Alyseia’s loyalties were a concern for another time.

“Await my word,” she ordered, “I will have a guest presently.”

“Yes, my lady.” Alyseia lowered her head further, and Elisande brushed past.

For all intents and appearances, Elisande’s private quarters were empty of any living thing but the magistrix herself, but she was no fool–her guest was within, somewhere. Subtle shifts in the air proved it. “Come now, don’t be shy, brother dearest,” Elisande let a sly grin curve up one side of her lips, “I believe we have  _ so _ very much to catch up on.”

An inelegant snort came from the gently wafting curtains at Elisande’s balcony, and Lucarys brushed them aside, not bothering to enter the room further. Balancing his fist on one hip, he told her, “It’s not as though I care, but you need better guards. I snuck past that simpering maid at your door without even a blink.”

“I suspected you would find your way within. Permission from my guards would have been irrelevant.” her charm, Elisande knew, was likely wasted on her younger brother, who had spat on their family name many times over the years and made a public fool out of her, but that was in the past.

Today, Elisande would determine how she handled him in the future.

“And, I would like to add,” Lucarys’ lip curved down into something approximating a snarl, a twisted mirror of Elisande’s smile, “we have  _ nothing _ to discuss.”

“Yet you stand here before me. Curious.”

“Your simple manipulations are meaningless to me, Elisande.”

“I speak only the truth–if you felt we truly had nothing to discuss, you would have ignored my summons. As you have ignored many obligations to your home and monarch.”

“I believe I made my feelings on my  _ obligations _ clear the last time we spoke face to face. I strongly doubt  _ you _ would like those sentiments repeated, however  _ I _ , on the other hand, would delight in doing so again.”

“Can a sister simply not inquire after her youngest family?” the mock hurt, Elisande knew, was stretching her ability to manipulate to its limit, and as expected, Lucarys felt nothing for the display.

With a scoff, Lucarys toyed with the hilt of one dagger, sheathed at his hip. Whether it was intended to remind her he was armed, or an idle, nervous tic was yet to be determined. “Yes, your sisterly warmth was unmistakable when you publicly disowned me from the family.”

“I could have had you killed.” Elisande reminded him, her cheerful demeanor unfaltering.

“You could have  _ tried _ .”

Stony silence sat for a long beat before Elisande indicated a vacant chair at one of her receiving tables. “Please, sit,” she invited him, “I  _ insist _ .”

Lip curled even lower, Lucarys raised his chin for another long moment before scoffing under his breath and making three long, sharp strides from where he stood at her balcony to the open chair, setting himself down in it far more aggressively than seemed normal. Elisande bit her tongue. It was intended to get under her skin, and she refused to give him the satisfaction.

“Alyseia,” Elisande called towards the chair, and swift, near-silent footfalls heralded her favored handmaiden’s arrival, “fetch the newest from the Twilight Vineyards. The vintner’s choice.”

Alyseia bowed gracefully, then darted away while Elisande worked to remove her heavy, ornate headpiece. By the time Alyseia returned with the bottle and set it carefully upon the table, her hands were empty to receive the headpiece, which Elisande handed her, waving her hand to dismiss the girl. Holding Elisande’s headpiece, she looked marginally more important, but the way she scurried away, even holding it, was unmistakable.

Like a rat.

Only seconds passed before Alyseia returned with two delicately-detailed crystal glasses, and she set one in front of Elisande and Lucarys both before uncorking the bottle and pouring with deft hands, taking it to Elisande’s side of the table and standing out of immediate sight, hands linked in front of her.

“If you insist on brushing pleasantries aside,” Elisande sighed as she took a sip of the arcwine, “then I suppose we will get to the heart of the matter. What do you know of the Nightfallen rebellion?”

Lucarys’ laugh was short, harsh, and mocking. “Are your own spies so inept that you must resort to your estranged brother for intelligence?” He taunted her. “Truly, things must be more dire than you admit.”

“I am simply seeking the viewpoint of an additional resource–one with near-uninhibited access to my city’s streets.” Elisande maintained her smile, but felt where it was developing sharper edges while she swirled the wine in her glass. “Unless you care so little for our fate that you have failed to notice anything is amiss at all.”

“I’ll tell you what I know, but I don’t expect it to be anything you don’t already know–they are rabble-rousers, a nuisance who wreak havoc in the streets in the name of empty freedom.”

Elisande resisted the impulse to lean forward and make her interest in his statement obvious. “Indeed? Perhaps you would consider an offer, then.”

“There is nothing you could offer that would be of interest to me.”

“No? I offer a return to the fold, my dear brother.” Elisande did lean forward this time, resting her elbow on the table and balancing her head in her hand. “I offer wealth and acclaim, and most of all, I offer survival.”

“You offer a pretty cage.” Lucarys rolled his eye–the other one covered by a leather eyepatch–and balanced one ankle over his knee. “A jeweled leash.”

“You yourself said just a moment ago that the rebels fight for empty freedom. What should it matter to you how you obtain it for yourself?”

“I have already found freedom.” Lucarys sat up a little straighter this time, both feet hitting the floor as he set his wine glass, untouched, heavily on the table. “I rejected your yoke of rule once before, under similar circumstances, because you would exploit my methods and skill for your own gain. I would not abide by it then, as I will not abide by it now.”

A chill fell between them, Elisande’s frigid lavender eyes meeting her brother’s single starlit one, his hand resting on the table, curled into a fist. He looked impassive, but there was anger lurking under the surface, and the worst part was that Elisande believed him. He would not be swayed by her.

However, it was clear he bore no love for the rebels, either. Defiance of her authority could not be tolerated, but he had not dared to cross that line just yet, and with this information, she doubted he would.

“Very well.” Elisande lowered her head in acceptance, taking another sip of her wine. “Do try the wine before you go, at the very least.”

Much to her surprise, he picked up his glass and swirled it before drinking half of it at once, another prod at her personable facade. “A very special vintage, indeed.”

“The vintner’s choice.”

“Oh? Which one?”

_ Which one? _ Elisande could not tip her hand and display her confusion, so she laughed and said, “Why, it is Iltheux’s, of course. You  _ are _ out of touch with the city’s happenings, it seems.”

“Iltheux’s blends are typically sharper.” Lucarys raised a brow at her. “Perhaps your maid grabbed the wrong bottle?”

Annoyance intensifying, Elisande picked up the bottle itself, searching for Iltheux’s trade seal, unique to his craft–

–and instead found the seal belonging to Margaux, Iltheux’s predecessor. The Nightfallen sympathizer Overseer Durant had summarily killed.

“Alyseia!” Elisande snarled, and the maid was present at her side in a heartbeat. “Would you care to explain how this bottle survived the purge of our stores? Dispose of it at once!”

“Yes, my lady–utmost apologies–” Alyseia stammered, and Elisande’s patience plummeted.

“Leave us. Immediately.” Elisande’s volume was stolen by her anger, and Alyseia, in her haste, took to her heels without even a cursory acknowledgement of the order.

Lucarys watched the outburst with an even, observant gaze, but there was nothing about her anger that gave anything away her brother would not already know. “A true shame about Margaux,” he remarked, taking a single sip of the wine remaining in his glass, “her blends held more hints of fruit flavoring. I hear Overseer Durant met an unfortunate end himself not long after.”

Elisande narrowed her eyes as her brother’s free hand toyed with the hilt of his dagger again.

Her brother, the most notorious assassin in Suramar City’s streets, who should not have even known Overseer Durant’s name, never mind his fate, or that he had been connected to Margaux in any way.

Almost as though he could sense the pieces Elisande had just put together, Lucarys smiled for the first time since his arrival, a small one, a sly one that turned his gaze sharper. “Truly, such a shame, isn’t it…sister?”

“You are the foulest kind of traitor.” Elisande’s mask of familial cheer fell away as her anger roiled bright and blinding in her chest. “I should kill you myself.”

“Why, that is not the hospitality of the sister I remember.” Lucarys raised a brow, and his smile widened. “You at least gave me a head start last time.”

“ _ Last _ time,” Elisande snapped, “you were a nuisance and wanted nothing except freedom.  _ Empty _ freedom. You are as much a rat scurrying around these streets as the Nightfallen, and you will receive no such lenience again.”

Elisande raised her hand, summoning the vast arcane power at her disposal, fully intending to obliterate her brother where he sat in his chair across from her, but the strength that surged through her, the magic that had been her weapon and her shield for millennia… _ failed? _

“If you had been paying attention,” Lucarys finished his glass of arcwine, setting the empty glass on the table, “you might have noticed the magebane poison in that bottle of wine, which would, naturally, have no adverse affects on me. You must be quite sure of yourself to drink and eat within your stronghold without even the shadow of a fear you might be consuming your last meal.”

“This is a temporary reprieve,” Elisande spat. “You have bought your  _ head start _ , Lucarys, but it will not save you.”

Lucarys rose slowly to his feet and took the slow, lazy step that brought him before where Elisande sat, leaning down to look her in the eye even as her own gaze burned with hatred.

“I poisoned your wine once, _ sister, _ ” he told her, voice heavy with menace, “and I can do it again.”

Turning his back, Lucarys vaulted over her balcony, and vanished.

Elisande waited until she was certain Lucarys was gone, and out of earshot, then took her half-empty glass of wine, hurling it at the stone floor, where it shattered and sent the remnants of the traitor’s arcwine spilling across the pristine surface, creeping towards the plush rugs nearby.

It wasn’t until the wine, dark violet-red and so forebodingly like blood in the evening light, threatened to touch the edges of her rug that she summoned Alyseia once more. “Clean this up,” she ordered, brushing past, “and order the Duskwatch commander to my receiving chamber at once.”

Lucarys had, once again, played her for a fool. He had twisted her only truly safe place in Suramar and turned it into something to regard with suspicion. He had made her feel  _ fear, _ in the heart of her own domain.

Elisande had underestimated him, but she would not make that mistake again.


	2. Shattering the Mirror

Without much exception, Alyseia’s routine had been the same every day for about a thousand years now, give or take.

She rose hours before the grand magistrix did, attending to minor cleanliness tasks and fetching her grandiose headdress from where it was stored with the rest of her regalia, setting it out with whatever outfit the magistrix herself picked the night before. If no outfit lay waiting, Alyseia chose one, and had, over the years, perfected what Elisande typically wanted without her saying so.

Sometimes, after all, they became  _ Alyseia’s _ outfits, when she sometimes acted as decoy for the magistrix herself.

Still hours before the magistrix rose, Alyseia went to the people she knew Elisande would want updates from, whether she had been ordered to or not, and she went to the kitchens to scarf down the lightest breakfast before returning with all due haste to the Nighthold’s heart, where Elisande would just be waking.

From there, Alyseia became her shadow, except for those few circumstances she was not permitted to know the business the magistrix discussed with her people. She listened, remembered, and kept silent unless asked to speak.

If she was fortunate, she had a few spare moments of recreation when Elisande took her meals, but even then she could be called upon unless explicitly dismissed–it could have been pure chance that Elisande had dismissed Alyseia for her meeting with Duskwatch Captain Vyltras, an hour before her disastrous meeting with Lucarys Evonti, her younger brother, but Alyseia strongly doubted it.

After all, she remembered the last message in her recent dead-drop from Shal’aran:  _ allies are in closer reach than you think. Reach for them in the shadows if you have need. _

If the implication was true–that even the Duskwatch’s captain had defected to the Nightfallen rebellion–Elisande was far closer to losing control of her empire than she suspected. Today had proven that without a shadow of a doubt.

The dismissal had given Alyseia time to switch the bottle of arcwine from Iltheux’s blend to Margaux’s, after all, and set up the message that Lucarys had been sent to deliver: her days were numbered, and the Nightfallen’s time was coming.

Alyseia remembered seeing the wine splattered across the floor when Elisande had summoned her back in to clean up the mess, deep violet-red like blood on the stone, and felt her throat tighten.

She had allies in the shadows, so she’d been told, but in the heart of her enemy’s home, it was all too easy to feel alone.

While Elisande met with Captain Vyltras, Alyseia slipped through the Nighthold’s hidden passages and forgotten tunnels until she reached its lowest levels, where a shrouded shape waited for her, idly tossing a dagger and catching it again. His ear twitched as she approached, and he told her without looking up, “She’s going to suspect you, if she doesn’t already–and she isn’t  _ that _ much of a fool.”

It didn’t take much guessing to know which ‘she’ Lucarys referred to. “I know. I can’t leave yet, though, not while I can still provide information.”

“Unless you somehow discover a brand-new tunnel directly from here to the heart of the Nighthold, you’re not much use there anymore.” Lucarys tossed his dagger one more time before sheathing it with its match. “But suit yourself. I’ll pass the word on to Thalyssra.”

“Take this, too.” Alyseia reached into a pocket of her skirt and pulled free a few bound sheets of parchment. “Everything I remembered from Elisande’s meetings today.”

Lucarys took the parchment and quickly scanned through it. One long, white brow lifted. “So Vyltras’ report was accurate after all, then. Elisande really  _ is _ risking a gala with the Nightfallen rebellion breathing down her neck. Tomorrow night, no less.”

“For her ‘favored allies’ in the Legion.” Alyseia confirmed. “I don’t have the details, but I know she’ll be there in person.”

“Vyltras left a note that it would be an ideal time to strike at her, and even if Thalyssra doesn’t agree, I do.” Lucarys fixed Alyseia with a considering look. “You understand?”

Alyseia swallowed. “I understand.”

“Then get back to the Nighthold before Elisande realizes you’re out. I doubt Vyltras can keep her occupied for long. She will approach you with the details about your place in the mission.” Lucarys stashed the bundle of letters in his jerkin and slipped into the darkness beyond the Nighthold’s lowest tunnels, leading to the Arcway. Alyseia waited until he was long out of sight before setting off at a brisk jog, weaving through her own hidden paths, back into the Nighthold’s center.

Like the eye of a storm, Alyseia thought, though she didn’t expect it to stay tranquil for long.

* * *

“Be certain of what you say, Vandros.” Elisande drummed her fingers against the table where she had, less than a half hour before, faced down her brother, magebane poison still running through her veins like fiery ants. “I am ill in the mood for assumptions.”

“I am certain, my lady.” Vandros’ hands were clasped behind his back in a loose approximation of parade rest. “I didn’t make the connection until just recently, but I came to you first. Your handmaiden has been wandering from the flock. It’s very likely the rebels know a great deal about your imminent plans, including the gala.”

Captain Vyltras had yet to answer Elisande’s summons, but that was of little concern to her–she was Elisande’s most capable Duskwatch captain, and as such, tended to remain busy. She had summoned Vandros in the interim, who had a very interesting piece of information to her–a confirmation of something Elisande had already suspected.

She could have quietly killed her favored handmaiden and swept the whole incident into the shadows, deprived the rebellion of a trusted, vital resource and left them grasping in the dark, and it might have even been the smartest thing to do.

But she could still do that  _ and _ send a clear message, destroying their morale at the same time.

A grin curved up Elisande’s cheek. “The gala will proceed as planned.”

“My lady?”

“Have Alyseia report back to me. I will require her for the necessary preparations.” Elisande rose and began sorting through her sets of regalia, searching for something with long, flowing sleeves. “You’re dismissed, Vandros.”

Vandros’ footsteps disappeared as Elisande pushed through her typical open attire, reaching for the gaudiest gown in the back, something she hardly ever unearthed herself. Its sleeves easily reached her knuckles when unrolled fully, and would assuredly be just as long on Alyseia’s arms.

Footsteps, too heavy to be her handmaiden's, announced Captain Vyltras’ arrival. “Forgive my tardiness, my lady.”

“You are forgiven.” Elisande turned away from the expansive armoire and returned to her chair at the room’s table. “I want to discuss additional security measures for the food and drink that passes from the kitchens to my quarters. And I would also like to discuss the gala.”

Thalianne Vyltras, as Elisande had come to learn during her long tenure with the Duskwatch, was a professional woman who could be trusted to keep focused on a task and follow through with it continuously. A bit somber for Elisande’s taste, but she was effective enough. Even now she hardly moved a muscle from where she stood, spine ramrod-straight, as she said, “I will arrange for testers to try your meals when they arrive at your quarters. What about the gala did you wish to discuss?”

“Have extra patrols ensure the Arcway tunnels remain clear, and place additional guards around my dais.” Elisande slowly drummed her fingers on the table’s surface. “Nightfallen assassins have grown more bold of late, and I will not tolerate their incursions.”

“As you will, my lady.” Vyltras bowed low. “I don’t expect it to affect our timeline, but if difficulties arise, I will inform you.”

“See that you do, Captain. You are dismissed.”

Captain Vyltras strode briskly from Elisande’s quarters and left the magistrix herself deep in thought as she planned for what she would tell her handmaiden. Not only had she forsaken the nightborne entirely, she had shattered Elisande’s trust, such a precious gift that the brat had clearly wasted in the name of empty freedom.

Elisande’s hand tightened into a fist, but with effort, she released a breath, relaxed, let a smile play across her lips.

She reached for a fresh bottle of arcwine, delivered by another servant a few moments ago, and poured two glasses.

It didn’t take long for Alyseia to return, slipping in through a hidden passage Elisande had shown her many years ago–there was a brief tightening in her chest at the thought of that memory, and Elisande crushed it. Sentimentality had no place here, not anymore.

“I am returning as requested, my lady.” Alyseia delicately curtsied in her long skirt until its hem brushed the ground, where she had cleaned up the remnants of the traitor Margaux’s arcwine earlier today.

“Very good.” Elisande smiled, and beckoned her closer. “I know you have been quite busy lately–please, join me.”

To her credit, Alyseia obeyed with all the haste she had for the past one thousand years that Elisande had entrusted her with so many things, and sat in the chair across from her, where her traitorous brother had sat. Elisande rose, and slowly pushed one of the wine glasses in Alyseia’s direction, holding her own as she moved to Alyseia’s side, resting a hand on her shoulder. “My lady?” Alyseia spoke, and if Elisande strained her ears hard enough, she could hear the tremor in it.

“Do enjoy some of the wine, won’t you?” Elisande tightened her grip on Alyseia’s shoulder, making it clear that it was an order, not a suggestion, and felt the muscle tense, then relax under her palm. “Do you remember what I told you when I first entrusted you with this position, as my favored handmaiden?”

Alyseia paused with her lips on the glass, then painstakingly set it back on the table, folding her hands in her lap. “You told me that you would ensure I was taken care of, so long as I did the same.”

“That is correct.” Elisande moved her hand from Alyseia’s shoulder to the smooth column of her neck. “I think it was a rather generous proposition for a waifish girl languishing in my streets, serving cheaply-made arcwine for a struggling vintner. I saw in you something special, Alyseia, a certain…quietness. A willingness to listen, where others would speak. And for so long, I assumed my words were the only ones you heard.”

“I would never betray you, my lady.” Alyseia’s eyes were downcast, as Elisande preferred, but her voice was quieter now, and in it, Elisande heard the truth. “You have given me everything.”

“If that is so,” Elisande moved her hand back to Alyseia’s shoulder, and gripped tighter this time as her voice turned cold, “then you have thrown away  _ everything _ in the name of empty freedom, a fool’s gambit. And now you will pay the price for it.”

What little color remained in Alyseia’s pale lavender skin fled in a rush, and she looked up to meet Elisande’s eyes this time. “My lady–”

“Did you think I would never discover the truth?” Elisande hissed, “Or did you think yourself so untouchable that you would be forgiven? It matters not, in the end.”

“I knew I might be discovered someday.” Alyseia locked her eyes with Elisande’s again, and in them, she saw fire, held just barely in check as her voice trembled. “I knew it was a risk. You may have given me shelter, sustenance,  _ everything _ –but you could not offer me freedom. You might think it empty, but I would rather die for that freedom than live under the Legion’s shackles.”

Frosty silence sat between them, and Elisande’s grip on her glass threatened to shatter it in her hand, but with effort, she set it down, where it wobbled on the table before settling. “You will have your wish, Alyseia, but it will not be here, and it will not be now. Guards!” Elisande snapped her fingers, and two of her honor guard, stationed at her quarters’ doors, entered, their polearms and shields at the ready. “Have my handmaiden taken to her quarters. She is to be kept under constant guard until the gala.”

“Yes, my lady.” one of the guards roughly pulled Alyseia to her feet, and Elisande resisted the automatic impulse to tell them to lighten their hands, as she would have before.

Alyseia was a traitor, and she would die a traitor’s death…at the hands of those she had betrayed Elisande for.


	3. The Masquerade

Rebellion had, in some way, always lit a flame in Thalianne’s blood.

She had never directly been a part of one until Thalyssra’s, but all the typical benchmarks were there: she had an unswerving desire to protect people from those who would exploit them, to see justice done. Once, she had very nearly defied Queen Azshara herself, ten millennia ago, and only the arguments of the prince she had loved had sent her away before the catastrophe that claimed his life, and cursed his people for eternity.

Perhaps it was little surprise that she had found herself at Meredil at the first possible opportunity, to see the First Arcanist’s will be done.

Wearing the mask of loyal Duskwatch captain had not been part of Thalianne’s original plan, but she acknowledged that it was where she was most useful. She had flexibility, maneuverability, and most of all, Elisande’s trust. Her circle was ever-tightening as the Nightfallen rebels tightened their grip, victims either of their actions themselves or of Elisande’s suspicion.

Thalianne, thus far, had remained as one of her pillars.

It was that fact and that fact alone that granted her unobstructed entrance to Elisande’s private quarters, where the grand magistrix herself held a sheaf of parchment in one hand, a glass of arcwine in the other. She didn’t look up as she said, “Report, Captain.”

“The street guards’ reports are mostly quiet–there have been a few instances of Nightfallen propaganda appearing on some of the walls, but it was removed in short order.” Thalianne held her posture straight, hardly daring to move a muscle for fear something in such an idle movement would give her away. Thalianne was a capable ranger, but a spy she was not. “I have also arranged for your requested amendments to the gala’s security.”

“Very good. You are dismissed, captain.” Elisande still didn’t look up, but Thalianne bowed anyway, and turned on her heel, headed for her next, and in her opinion, far more important stop: Alyseia’s quarters.

As Elisande’s favored handmaiden, Alyseia was “generously” given her own quarters, adjacent to Elisande’s, and in all the times Thalianne had been there before, it had been quiet, unguarded, and left to its own devices, much like the handmaiden herself.

Today, however, two felborne guards stood at the door, with their eerie veridian eyes glowing with corrupted power, their pikes crossed over the door in near-symmetrical perfection. “The handmaiden is not permitted to leave, Captain,” one of the guards told her, his face twisted into a sneer, “but you may speak with her if you require her service.”

“I do, thank you.” Thalianne waited until the felborne guards raised their pikes, then slipped inside.

Alyseia’s quarters were small, tidy, and decorated modestly–the only touch of opulence were the curtains, translucent lavender and wafting gently with the breeze. Alyseia herself sat at the windowsill, looking out at the sea just beyond Suramar City. She didn’t turn even when Thalianne approached, and only released a faint breath when Thalianne’s hand landed on her shoulder.

“Yes?” Alyseia spoke, and seemed…distracted. Thalianne’s heart twisted with sympathy. For all that she was not skilled as a spy in any regard, Alyseia was debatably in the most danger, waiting on Elisande at most hours of the day while simultaneously divulging the secrets she learned to the Nightfallen rebels. A little preoccupation, she had a feeling, was warranted.

“I’ve come to discuss the gala.” Thalianne pitched her voice lower. “Lucarys and I agree–the best thing you can do is attend to Elisande like normal. One of us will fetch you after the target has been killed.”

“Very well.” she said, still not turning to meet Thalianne’s gaze. “Thank you.”

Thalianne hesitated, a pit of unease sitting low in her gut, an age-old instinct that told her something was amiss, from the felborne guards outside Alyseia’s door to the demeanor of the handmaiden herself. Kneeling next to the window, to be at Alyseia’s eye height, Thalianne lowered her voice and said, “Alys…are you well?”

“Everything is fine.” Alyseia still didn’t turn to look Thalianne in the eye, and her unease sank into deep dread. “I’m only tired. I’ll be at the gala and waiting your word.”

“As you say.” Thalianne rose to her feet slowly. “This is the last time we will speak beforehand, if you have anything else?”

It was a final opportunity for Alyseia to be honest, to unburden herself of whatever she carried that weighed her down so heavily, and Thalianne waited a long moment for Alyseia to respond. Finally, she released a long breath, gaze still focused at the inlet outside her window, and said, just above a whisper, like the words took every ounce of her strength, “I’m…scared. I’m scared, Thalianne.”

“Of what?” Thalianne knelt beside Alyseia’s window again. The handmaiden was a good thousand years old, but it was impossible for Thalianne not to feel protective of her regardless, especially while she took such a steep risk for the rebellion. “Is it the gala?”

Alyseia was silent, but did not contradict the suggestion. “Can you…” Alyseia paused, then continued, her voice suddenly and strangely much stronger now, “…just stay away from me until it’s time to go. It’s a risk the longer we’re seen visiting.”

There was an arcane bite to the air with a bitter, demonic taint that unsettled Thalianne further, but she was not adept enough of a mage to divine the source with such limited time, and resources.

It was, she realized, the same feeling she got being around felborne guards, but despite the easy explanation, unease continued to creep across her skin.

“Take care, Alys.” Thalianne finally said, and slipped out, past the felborne guards, and back down the Nighthold’s halls.

* * *

As Elisande’s handmaiden, Alyseia had long come to learn there was no such thing as true privacy. All her actions were subject to scrutiny and questioning, and while she had been granted leniency with the passage of years, Alyseia was always prepared with an explanation of her actions, no matter who questioned her.

She had wanted to answer Thalianne. So badly had she wanted to answer that even without arcane skill herself, she had briefly pushed through the binding that kept her here, sitting at her window in her empty room with felborne guards that stood watch in case the enchantment failed. She had only broken the compulsion for a split second, and had wasted it on two simple words.

_ I’m scared. _

A hand landed on her shoulder, far less kind than Thalianne’s, and pulled her to her feet. Wordlessly, listlessly, Alyseia rose, and went to Elisande’s chamber with the felborne guard’s hand guiding her.

“Ah, Alyseia.” Elisande’s smile was sharp and sour, and the same feeling roiled through Alyseia’s tender stomach. “I’m  _ so _ glad you were willing to assist me in this matter.”

Speaking was too difficult, but Alyseia nodded instead. She saw a gown across Elisande’s bed, and she didn’t know what the magistrix had planned, but she knew she would have a part in it she could not warn the Nightfallen spies about. Not until it was far too late.

“Guards, leave us.” Elisande’s command was firmer, and the hand left Alyseia’s shoulder before she felt the shift in the air from the guards departing. Elisande rose to her feet from where she sat at her receiving table, standing at Alyseia’s back and resting both hands on her shoulders. “You are going to be magnificent, my dear.”

Only a weak noise of fear emerged from a deep place in Alyseia’s throat, and Elisande  _ tsk _ -ed her tongue, moving over to the bed and lifting up the gown, with long, gaudy sleeves.

As if the realization had to float through the arcane fog in her mind, Alyseia realized, after a long moment, exactly what Elisande had planned.

“This is the price you pay for defying me, Alyseia.” Elisande draped the gown over the back of a chair and took Alyseia’s wrists, pushing the sleeves away to reveal the filigree shackles beneath, engraved with fel runes, that held Alyseia’s mind in a stranglehold. “I said you would have your wish–you will die for the empty freedom you so craved. I, however, will not be the one to kill you.” Gesturing towards the gown, Elisande tightened her grip on one of Alyseia’s wrists, sending a pulse of magic through the charmed shackle, and said, “Do hurry up in getting ready–the guests will be arriving very shortly, and they are  _ ever _ so eager to see their magistrix.”

* * *

As parties went, Lucarys thought, he’d seen better.

The arcwine was the finest from the Twilight Vineyards–Iltheux’s blend, while Lucarys vastly preferred Margaux’s–and the appetizers had no expense spared, with ingredients brought in from around the world that was so newly open to them again for the first time in ten thousand years. Gentle harp music fluttered down from unseen niches and nooks in the gala’s open ballroom, and to anyone else it would have looked like a picturesque representation of Suramar’s luxuries.

The demons were the real eyesore, honestly.

Since arriving, Lucarys had seen no fewer than a dozen eredar with their glowing fel-green eyes and markings, felt the burn in the air that came from their mere proximity, and steered well clear of them. He’d seen shivarra with blades clutched in all six of their hands, wicked-sharp and deadly. There had been a few doomlords, here and there, but by and large they were not considered  _ palatable _ enough, he had a feeling, to rub elbows with Suramar’s highest and mightiest.

_ Highest and mightiest. _ What a joke. They had no idea how close they were to losing control of it all.

Lucarys took a final drink of his arcwine before setting the glass down on the closest flat surface. He wasn’t here for the ambiance, and he was glad for it. Today, if everything went according to plan, they would deal Elisande a single, fatal blow that would change the course of the Nightfallen’s struggle. It would end things in one fell swoop.

_ Almost. _

There was still the matter of the Nightwell itself, and Elisande’s demonic allies, but by and large those were secondary concerns. Without Elisande’s leadership, her supporters would be easy pickings later. And, more importantly, with Elisande dead, Lucarys had no further reason to lend the Nightfallen his blade or his time. Nobody could very well turn in the bounty for killing him if  _ she _ died first.

His first step was to check in with Vyltras, but it would be far more efficient, and less suspicious, he knew, to let her find him. It left him at his own devices, though, and he was certainly no longer equipped to deal with the polite niceties of Elisande’s parties.

Instead, he decided, he’d get an idea where their target was. If Elisande was here, she was doing a good job of hiding, as she damn well should, with the Nightfallen all but breathing down her neck. Slipping through crowds of other partygoers, Lucarys picked up one of the many appetizers on display and casually took a bite out of it as he walked, a steady, sedate pace designed to draw no attention.

At the room’s edge, Lucarys saw a series of light curtains, more like veils, really, obscuring a section of the balcony above. From within, he saw a familiar glimmer of lavender-white hair, brushed to a bright shine in the dim starlight. It was almost enough to assure him of their mission’s rapidly-approaching success, but he stopped, and took a closer look.

Elisande’s face turned, left curiously open without her usual headpiece, and perhaps it was a trick of the light, but the shape of her jaw looked… _ different. _

Her face turned again, and made eye contact with Lucarys where he stood, and he resisted the urge to drop everything and take to his heels. Not in fear, no, but if he was discovered, the mission was compromised for certain.

Elisande made no move to call for her guards, though–strangely enough, she moved her hands, slowly and painstakingly pulling back a sleeve of her gown, revealing something on her wrist that glowed faintly with bright green energy, the color of fel magic.

Her lips formed the word  _ help _ , and Lucarys’ stomach dropped as he swore viciously under his breath.

He was not looking at Elisande upon the dais, but  _ Alyseia… _ and the Nightfallen were preparing to assassinate her where she knelt upon her cushions.

It took a monumental amount of self control not to walk any swifter than normal, but Lucarys slipped through the crowds with little regard to manners now. Vyltras was the only one who could call off the operation entirely…as long as she, too, wasn’t compromised.

At the guard station, Lucarys found Vyltras speaking to a few felborne guards, sending them on patrols, most likely, and as they departed, Lucarys stalked up and yanked her by the shoulder out of sight. He found a blade at his throat a split second later before she recognized him, her lavender eyes boring a baleful hole into him. “What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed. “Are you trying to get us both caught?”

“You know very well no one would question two people slipping away in the middle of a party such as this.”

“They would if  _ one _ of them was the Duskwatch captain. Speak quickly, we don’t have long.”

“We’re compromised.” Lucarys told her flatly, and watched the moment her heart stopped cold in her chest. “Elisande knows we’re coming for her. She set Alyseia as a decoy.”

“I knew something seemed off when I went to visit her last.” Vyltras, for the briefest moment seized by regret, refocuses. “This limits our options a great deal.”

“It destroys this mission, is what it does.” Lucarys snapped, bitter anger settling in his chest as he came to the realization that he wouldn’t be quite rid of Elisande yet after all. “How do you plan to salvage it?”

“We pull Alyseia out.” Vyltras stated after a pensive pause. “I am one of the few granted clearance to openly approach the ‘grand magistrix’s’ dais, and I can fabricate an excuse to pull her away. If Elisande’s people are watching, however–and I strongly doubt they aren’t–they will know something is amiss.”

“Go to the Arcway.” Lucarys told her after briefly racing through the few options for escaping the city that he was aware of. “We can lose them in the tunnels.”

Vyltras was already shaking her head. “Elisande ordered extra patrols down there, and I can’t pull them out now without raising the alarm too soon.” Closing her eyes with a pained line between her brows, Vyltras released a breath. “Go to the edge of the Nighthold’s docks, where there should still be a few gondolas remaining. Use this to disguise its appearance.” Taking a polished crystal from a pocket of her armor, she shoved it into Lucarys’ hands. “It will give you the appearance of a vintner making deliveries. If Alyseia arrives without me…don’t wait for me.”

It was a clear implication, and Lucarys tightened his fist around the crystal. He would hate to say that the idea of Captain Vyltras sacrificing her life for  _ him _ left a pang in his chest, but it did.

“Go.” Vyltras pushed him free first, and followed, her strides brisk and her chin held high. “And make haste.”

Lucarys did not quite forsake his appearance of being a casual partygoer just yet–only when he’d rounded the corner did he take off at a full tilt sprint for the Nighthold’s docks, bitter anger and sour resignation warring for control in his chest.

He had no idea  _ how _ he was going to explain this catastrophe to Thalyssra, but that was a problem for if he made it back alive.

* * *

Thalianne’s march through the party’s crowds was marked with far more urgency than she would have liked.

It drew attention, but one way or another, this whole situation was about to implode upon itself, and she knew she had to present the mask of loyal Duskwatch captain for only so long as it took to free Alyseia and ensure she made it to the Nighthold’s docks, where Lucarys presumably waited.

“Captain–” one of her guards attempted to gain her attention, but her pace did not falter.

“I am on a task for the Grand Magistrix,” she told them, almost in too much of a rush to even look over her shoulder, “and you may seek me out after.”

Up the stairs Thalianne went, until she came to the balcony entrance that concealed Alyseia from view. Two felborne guards stood with their pikes crossed over the entrance. “The grand magistrix isn’t taking visitors during the gala, Captain.”

“I have urgent business that requires her attention.” Thalianne took another step closer, undeterred by the glowing green of their pikes. “Stand aside.”

“My apologies, Captain,” the first guard told her, “but her order was clear–”

It took only a split second’s realization for Thalianne to reach an obvious conclusion, one she should have known the moment she discovered this plan with Lucarys’ insight–Elisande had not told her of this decoy plan in the first place, and that meant she, too, was suspected of treachery. Now, here, asking to see the magistrix herself, only proved it. Those who knew of the charade would have known to seek her out elsewhere for their urgent news.

It was that realization that made Thalianne launch a tightened fist into the throat of the first felborne guard, take his pike, and use it to strike the second guard down before either of them could even make a sound.

They fell, and Thalianne leaped over them, pulling the opaque curtains aside. Alyseia didn’t turn her head until Thalianne’s hand landed heavy on her shoulder, and she flinched under the touch; with effort, Thalianne lightened her grip. “Alys.  _ Alys, _ look at me.”

Slowly, her head turned, and Thalianne got that same feeling of arcane sorcery in the air, burnt with its fel taint. Alyseia wordlessly pulled back the edge of her sleeve, and Thalianne’s stomach dropped into her feet.

A charmed shackle, light enough to be mistaken for jewelry…inscribed with fel runes, glowing with power.

Thalianne dropped to one knee and attempted to purge the jewelry of its demonic power with a burst of arcane magic, but Alyseia bit her lip against a scream, and Thalianne knew it would take more effort–and a far more powerful mage–to break the compulsion. “Come on,” she said, just under her breath, pulling Alyseia to her feet, “we need to find someone who can destroy that shackle. Lucarys is waiting at the Nighthold’s docks.”

Alyseia could not respond, it seemed, except to nod, but Thalianne saw the fear shining in her eyes, highlighted with the shimmering tears that couldn’t quite fall, and she tightened her grip on Alyseia’s hands briefly before moving one to her shoulder, a guiding gesture.

This time, Thalianne felt eyes on them as they walked, and she knew she was running out of time to make their escape seamless before it turned bloody. Elisande was surely already aware that Alyseia had been led away, and with two dead guards, as well as her own absence from the court, there would be little doubt of the culprit.

Alyseia, for her part, kept up with Thalianne’s brisk walk effortlessly, and they made it out of immediate sight with no complications, but they would back themselves into a corner soon if they didn’t evade the rest of the Duskwatch’s attention. Pulling them into a side alcove, Thalianne rolled up the sleeve concealing Alyseia’s mind-bending shackle once more, and read the runes inscribed upon it. They were unfamiliar to her, mostly, but a few she recognized as binding runes, intended to subdue a victim’s mind.

She had not the slightest idea how to break them without also breaking Alyseia’s mind in the process. Arcane magic could counter fel energy, if one was skilled enough at its patterns, but Thalianne, by her own estimation, was a very basic mage at her absolute best.

Thalianne summoned an arcane familiar, to bolster what little spell power she still had, and drew upon its energy until her hand glowed a faint violet. With it, she reached for the fel runes, felt their power and the intricate twists and turns so foreign to the magic Thalianne knew. She brought her arcane power to bear, and slowly traced an arcane rune over the fel rune she recognized as a binding shape, leaving its afterimage glowing in the air for a few seconds. The fel rune shimmered, but did not disappear.

Alyseia released a breath, and whispered, “It weakened.”

It was all Thalianne needed to hear–that her instincts had, in some way, led her to the right answer, all she needed was more power to achieve it. Pulling a small pouch from her armor, containing a few emergency mana crystals in the event she found herself separated from the Nightwell’s power or a source of arcwine, Thalianne chewed on several of them, letting its latent energy flow through her veins in a charged rush. Focusing once more on the rune, Thalianne prepared to make her second attempt when another voice rang out through the streets.

_ “Captain Vyltras!” _ it commanded, “You are under arrest for the crime of high treason against Suramar. Surrender yourself, and you will be granted a swift death.”

Alyseia whimpered where they stood, and Thalianne closed her eyes, drawing on all the energy she could bring to bear, inscribing the arcane symbol once again. The fel rune flickered, and at last, it failed.

It was not enough to free her entirely, but Alyseia gasped and some of the color returned to her face. Before she could speak, before she could do anything, Thalianne shoved her in the direction of the alcove’s open side, hopefully unguarded, for now, so long as she could keep them occupied. “There’s no time to rest–find Lucarys, Alys. Now.”

“But–” Alyseia raised her chin, some of the determination returning to her in the line her jaw made while it set, in the straightening of her shoulders, but it would not be enough to stop the Duskwatch.

“Alyseia.” Thalianne drew her bow, knuckles tightening on the grip. “ _ Go.” _

This time, Alyseia ran, effortless even in her gaudy skirts, and Thalianne turned back to the thoroughfare, taking a breath and releasing it before she stepped out.

She did not know all of her Duskwatch officers by heart, and this was one whose face she recognized, but his name eluded her. “Where is Alyseia Lumes, Captain?” he asked.

“Gone, by now.” Thalianne straightened her spine. “I imagine you know I do not plan to surrender.”

“I thought to at least offer you the option.” there was a strange hint of regret in the Duskwatch officer’s voice, a hint of doubt that this was truly the right thing to do, but Thalianne did not have the time to waste in talking while the lives of their truly loyal agents hung in the balance. “Take her alive, if possible, but she cannot be allowed to escape.”

They fell upon her, but Thalianne was ready.

Arcane bolts left her bow and claimed three Duskwatch agents as they closed ranks with her–using her bow as a bludgeoning tool, she whipped it across the first guard to reach her, and he fell with the force of it, and did not rise again. Shoving the next two guards into the nearby canal with her shoulder, she turned fast enough to draw her belt knife and sink it into the chest of the next guard, yanking it free and turning to throw it–

And froze.

Grand Magistrix Elisande turned the corner, flanked by several of her felborne honor guard, hand raised as her spell kept Thalianne frozen in place where she stood, knife raised, bow in hand. They regarded one another in silence before Elisande broke it first.

“You know the price of this treason, Captain.” Elisande’s face was cold and hard, but desperation lurked behind the obvious fury in her gaze. With Thalianne’s loss, her inner circle was rapidly dwindling, and she had to be aware of the fact. Leaning close enough to almost touch her nose with Thalianne’s, Elisande sniffed, and leaned back. “You reek of mana. I do hope it was sustaining, for it will be the last you will ever see, wretch.”

Even while frozen, Thalianne managed a few words. “It was all I needed.”

Curling her lip, Elisande turned to her guards and ordered, “Take her to the Arcway tunnels. Let her join the ranks of the mindless Withered.”

* * *

Thalyssra pinched the bridge of her nose, lines of deep sorrow highlighted by Shal’aran’s dim lighting. Lucarys and Alyseia stood before her, the latter being attended by Valtrois, who was attempting to nullify the runes on Alyseia’s charmed shackle.

“Captain Vyltras captured, Alyseia compromised, and the Grand Magistrix still lives.” Thalyssra’s voice was flat in its fury. “You chose to gamble everything we have fought to achieve on a hastily contrived plan, and now we are at a disadvantage.”

“We were  _ always _ at a disadvantage, in case you haven’t noticed.” Lucarys snapped in response. “We had the opportunity to act, and we took it.”

“And now we have lost two of our best-placed sources of information on the Grand Magistrix’s plans.” Thalyssra, with effort, controlled her tone, but the sharp bite of her anger remained. “Lives will be lost without them, and yet now we must accelerate our plans to storm the Nighthold itself regardless. Elisande is on her guard, and we do not have the luxury of waiting for her to settle back into complacency.” Turning away for a moment to study the portal network that remained open–aside from the Waning Crescent, where all their operations within the city itself had once been based–Thalyssra turned back and said, “I will consult with the Alliance and Horde leaders to determine our next step, but the both of you, until further notice, are to remain in Shal’aran.”

Lucarys straightened and his single remaining eye glowed with indignation. “You can’t just–”

“I can.” Thalyssra told him, voice hard. “And I  _ have _ . Stay here, and I will return with plans for our next step.”

Lucarys made a dismissive gesture before hauling himself to his feet and going down Shal’aran’s spiraling stairs, likely off to sulk. Valtrois’ attention was still focused on Alyseia’s charmed shackle, but with a gasp of triumph, it finally came loose, and Alyseia rubbed her wrist, shivering, as Valtrois exclaimed, “Finally! I swear they make these enchantments more convoluted all the time. May I keep this? I think I should like to study it.”

“I–of course.” Alyseia managed to mumble, and with a flourish, Valtrois departed, leaving Alyseia in her finery, ruffled and disheveled.

Exhaustion lingered in her frame, though, and Thalyssra rested a careful hand on Alyseia’s shoulder. “You ought to rest, while you can. You will be safe here.”

“What about Captain Vyltras?” Alyseia looked up to meet Thalyssra’s eyes, and to Thalyssra’s relief, her gaze was unclouded, the last of the enchantment wearing off as her typical spirit returned to her. “We can’t just leave her at Elisande’s mercy.”

“If she lives,” Thalyssra chose her words carefully, “we will look for her when we storm the Nighthold. We cannot risk another venture into the city now, not with tensions running this high.”

Alyseia was silent, but nodded her agreement, eyes closed. “I hope we arrive in time to find her.”

Thalyssra released a breath. “As do I.”


	4. True Colors

Morning found Alyseia at the ruins above Shal’aran, with only the slowly-climbing sunrise and the silence for company.

Silence had been a rare gift in the Nighthold--in a structure so busy and so vital to the nightborne, there was always noise, always chaos, no matter how controlled. The quiet should have felt like a gift here, so far away from the only city Alyseia had ever known, so far away from the things that would do her harm.

Instead, it felt like a trap, even more than the Nighthold itself. Within its walls, Alyseia had been an unknown enemy placed in the heart of her people, slowly turning fel-corrupted, but she had been useful. She had been crucial to the Nightfallen’s efforts to remove Elisande from her throne, and save the lives she threw upon the fire to appease her new masters in the Legion.

When she was young, and had stars in her eyes for all the Grand Magistrix’s designs, Alyseia would have said there was no master the regal magistrix would have bowed to. That illusion, like so many others surrounding Elisande, had shattered in the end. Drawing her knees closer to her chest, Alyseia shivered in the warmth of the sun’s rising rays.

In the back of her mind, Alyseia knew she would have been safest within Shal’aran itself, but it was too full, too busy. It felt far more overwhelming to be in an unknown place full of allies than her home, full of enemies, and she didn’t know what that said about her.

Alyseia’s fingers absently traced the place on her wrist that Elisande’s fel-charmed shackle had bound her, mind and soul. Valtrois had it now, and claimed to be studying it, saying it would provide insight to the Legion’s ability to cage one’s mind.

In Alyseia’s opinion, the only thing to be done with it was hurl it into the sea.

She ought to be grateful. She ought to be in there, asking Thalyssra what could be done now that Captain Vyltras was gone. She ought to be making herself  _ useful _ , but she had been most useful placed at the side of the Nightfallen’s greatest enemy, and now that was no longer a possibility. Captain Vyltras--Thalianne, Alyseia’s first real friend--was in Elisande’s merciless hands, with no indication whether she was alive or dead. They were blind to Elisande’s next movements, and had little insight for how to prepare.

Last night, Alyseia had gone with Thalyssra to deliver that grim report to Archmage Khadgar of the Kirin Tor as well as the leaders from both the Alliance and Horde. All of them had lamented the loss of a trusted resource, and begun bickering about how to handle their next steps, but the archmage’s hand had tightened around his staff in silence, and Alyseia had a feeling she was not the only one who had lost a friend last night.

And yet, here she sat, above Shal’aran, doing nothing but watching the sunrise, and feeling as though it didn’t offer the same wonder and providence she once felt it had. She had been trapped under Elisande’s yoke for many long years, for centuries, and yet she had never felt so powerless as she did now.

Pushing herself to her feet, Alyseia wandered back down the path to Meredil, and heard the sounds of exertion that told her Lucarys wasn’t any more enthused about the crowds inside Shal’aran than she, but for vastly different reasons, she had a feeling.

Peering around the rock face, she found him attacking a makeshift target with uncharacteristic fury, and she watched for a long moment before, with a final twist and deadly throw of his main-hand dagger, he stopped, leaned over with his hands on his knees. He didn’t immediately rise, but when he did, he flinched slightly, as if her presence was unexpected.

“What do you want?” he snapped as he sat on a nearby rock, still catching his breath.

“Nothing.” Alyseia sat on the other end of the ruin, within reasonable speaking distance, but a safe space away from Lucarys’ daggers. “I just heard you down here.”

Lucarys rolled his head in a stretch. “Well, go bother someone else. Thalyssra should still be inside.”

“I don’t want to go back inside.” Alyseia told him, brittle and strained.

That gave him pause; his hand rested on his dagger before he turned to fix her with a more considering look, before snorting and, with effort, yanking his dagger free. “Fine. Just don’t interrupt.”

Lucarys, Alyseia knew, had been an assassin and professional thief haunting Suramar City’s streets like a ghost for far longer than she had even been alive. She knew that Elisande had always received reports about places he’d struck with a tightening of her jaw and little else, which had struck her as odd when she so rarely suffered those types among her people for long.

When Alyseia had first discovered Lucarys was Elisande’s brother, Alyseia had thought that perhaps the magistrix had a soft spot for him because of their familial ties, but after knowing exactly how he had unbalanced Elisande when poisoning her wine with magebane, she knew the truth: she was afraid of him. And with good reason.

Alyseia did not want to be feared. She did not want to be that ghost in the night who people spoke of with caution and wary glances, as if the very mention of her name would summon her.

But perhaps she did want a little of that power. A little control, over no one and nothing but herself and what she could do.

“Who taught you?” she blurted the question out before thinking, and Lucarys swore under his breath as he dropped one of his daggers in surprise, turning his glare on her with a scowl.

“Who taught me  _ what?” _ he demanded, leaning down to snatch his dagger from where it fell.

“How to use those.” Alyseia nodded at the blades in his hands, normally coated with poison every other time she’d seen him, this time bare of it. “Who taught you?”

Lucarys’ glare lessened in potency but didn’t fade entirely, and got a hint of wariness to it instead. “Why do you ask?”

There was nothing for it, it seemed, except to ask. “Would you teach me how to use them?”

The laugh that came out of Lucarys’ throat was little more than a harsh bark, a mean, mocking sound, but Alyseia didn’t flinch yet, though suppressing the instinct took more effort than she expected. “I didn’t take you for the joking type, Alyseia.”

“I’m not joking.” Alyseia straightened, and felt the certainty of that statement settle in her spine like steel. It wasn’t what she had expected to ask today, nor was he the person she had expected to ask, but it was  _ something,  _ and it was better than sitting above Shal’aran, waiting to feel useful.

“What makes you think I have any interest whatsoever in teaching you?”

“I know you don’t, but--”

“Good, then you understand why I won’t do it.”

“You weren’t the only one she used.” Alyseia’s words were cold, colder than she would’ve thought herself capable of even just a few short months ago, but free of the Nighthold’s clutches, it felt good, for the first time, to let that anger manifest. “You were just strong enough to leave. Consider yourself fortunate for that.”

The silence that fell between them was not the empty, hopeless variety atop Shal’aran, nor was it the comfortable, easy kind she had only limited experience with--it was charged with realization and anger and a tipping scale that told Alyseia this could go one way or another at the slightest provocation.

Lucarys’ sigh was all resignation and residual fury, but when he rubbed his face in his free hand, Alyseia knew she’d won.

“Just to be clear,” he told her as she rose to her feet when he jerked his head, “I’m not doing this for  _ you _ . I’m doing this to have one more shot at putting a knife in Elisande’s back, where it belongs.”

“That’s perfectly fine with me.” Alyseia’s smile was dry, and as cold as the steel in Lucarys’ hands. “I think it would be fitting, actually.”

Lucarys huffed. “I’m not going to be nice, you know. It isn’t as though anyone’s ever thought of me as a  _ teacher _ before. Nor have I ever  _ wanted _ to teach anyone, for that matter. I still don’t. But I want Elisande dead more.”

“Then where do I begin?”

* * *

There was no one who knew the Arcway tunnels as well as Thalianne.

Ever since the shield fell, Thalianne had made it her business to know them within and without, to know where they led, where they opened up, and where certain sections aligned with other structures beneath the earth. While masquerading as the loyal Duskwatch captain under Elisande’s rule, that knowledge had served the Nightfallen as an invaluable resource.

Now, those same tunnels were Thalianne’s prison.

None of Elisande’s patrols came down here anymore, and for all intents and purposes Thalianne was unguarded, but she had no weapon, no armor bar the basic linen clothing she wore underneath, and the last of her mana crystals and arcwine had been taken from her upon arrival. Time passed without her knowledge, and Thalianne could not say whether she had been down here for hours or for days, but she didn’t think it had been a week, not yet.

A leak from a natural spring somewhere near the tunnels, made accessible with the crumbling of the Arcway’s tunnel, provided Thalianne water, and the guards had left Thalianne with her limited supply of food, for there was no point in taking it from her now. They knew the mana withdrawal would kill her faster than any natural hunger.

Running a finger along her cheekbone, already more pronounced than when she’d arrived, Thalianne shivered.

Her strength came and went, slowly slipping away from her as time went on, but while she still had the energy to spare, she spent a moderate amount of her time wandering the tunnels. She knew exactly where they led, after all, and knew which sections were closer to Meredil than they were to Suramar City itself, but that knowing did not help her now.

Had Alyseia and Lucarys escaped? Thalianne was willing to imagine they had. They’d had enough of a head start against the rest of the Duskwatch, and with her disguise crystal, no one should have been any the wiser to their departure. She wondered what they’d told Thalyssra.

She wondered how Thalyssra would respond.

With the loss of both herself and Alyseia from within the Nighthold’s halls, after all, the Nightfallen were now blind to Elisande’s plans, and she would assuredly have a reprisal prepared for the uproar at the gala. Shal’aran was still a well-kept secret, but there were other avenues Elisande could take to exact her punishment.

Pulling herself to her feet with the aid of a jagged piece of masonry, Thalianne grunted with the effort and took a moment to regain her balance as her head spun for a few seconds before tentatively settling, a makeshift raft upon a stormy sea. When she walked, her steps were carefully placed, but steady. She was weaker now, but that didn’t mean she would stop fighting.

Thalianne’s fight now was with  _ time _ , and it was not a fight she could win with a weapon, not really. What had Archmage Khadgar told her once, during a brief discussion about magical theory a few weeks ago?

_ Willpower is just as much a weapon as something you can strike with. Honing it is just as important, if not more so for a mage. _

Leaning against the Arcway tunnel’s wall, she closed her eyes and let out a tired sigh. Thalianne was not a mage in the truest sense of the word, but she did call upon magic as her ally when it suited her, and her willpower was now the only ally she had left, but even it would not save her forever.

Eyes flashing open, Thalianne dug deep into her last, precious reserves of power, and summoned her arcane familiar, weaker than normal in its dim violet light. It flickered once, twice, then steadied. “Find the highest concentrations of arcane power,” she told it, and with a brief flash of acknowledgement, the familiar disappeared down the tunnels.

Her mana crystals were gone, as was her supply of arcwine for traveling, but the Arcway had once connected leyline tunnels throughout Suramar, and now, they might be Thalianne’s salvation.

* * *

“Could you at least  _ try _ to pay attention to your footwork once? Just  _ once?” _

Gritting her teeth, Alyseia repeated the practice strike Lucarys had taught her, this time consciously acknowledging where she placed her feet. It didn’t feel any different, but Lucarys’ sigh told her it was, somehow, better.

“Well, that time wasn’t as hopeless as the first. Try it again. And remember--”

“Footwork, yes, I understand.” Alyseia’s wide volume of patience had found itself tested more than she expected at the onset of these lessons, five days ago, but some of that, she knew, was the frustration that came from learning any new skill.

Lucarys’ lessons tended to switch between topics quickly, but that came from having much less time to teach them than either of them would’ve liked. Lucarys’ lessons about footwork had translated to how to use said footwork in specific strikes in less than a day, and had only gotten more complicated from there. They hadn’t gotten to a point yet where Lucarys would spar with her, but Alyseia knew it would be coming sooner rather than later.

Part of her looked forward to testing what she’d learned.

“No,  _ no _ \--Alyseia, with movement like that you’ll be lucky if you don’t wind up stabbing _ yourself _ in the back, never mind Elisande.” Lucarys’ sigh was all exasperation and regret, and he buried his face in both hands.

Alyseia would be lying if she said he wasn’t a discouraging teacher at best, but he was all she had.

“I need a break--and a drink.” Lucarys let his hands fall at his sides as he turned and headed back for the safety of Shal’aran. “Keep practicing. If I find you’ve cut one of your limbs off by accident and I have to clean  _ your _ blood off my daggers--”

“You won’t.” the hardness of Alyseia’s words told her that maybe Lucarys wasn’t the only one who needed a break, but if she wasn’t doing this, she was sitting around Meredil, moping.

She’d done far too much of that already.

Lucarys left, and Alyseia continued practicing the basic strikes Lucarys had shown her so far. She was tired, far more exhausted than she had been even in her most hectic days as Elisande’s handmaiden, and sore in places she hadn’t known she could  _ be _ sore, and she was sure she’d smell like dried sweat for the rest of her days.

With every twist on her heels, though, with every time Lucarys’ daggers sang in the air as she practiced her swing, Alyseia felt better. Centered. Valtrois had removed the fel-charmed shackled that imprisoned Alyseia’s mind after her discovery as a spy, but the blades in her hands removed a far more intangible shackle from her mind in the form of the freedom it gave her.

It took a long moment for Alyseia to realize she wasn’t alone, but when she turned, hands tightening on Lucarys’ daggers, she didn’t find their owner.

She found, instead, one of the blood elves, presumably from the Horde camp not far away from Meredil itself. She wore the red and gold colors that Alyseia had come to recognize from their people, with a hood pulled up, and pale golden hair drifting outside of it.

“Were you looking for Thalyssra?” Alyseia hadn’t seen many of the Alliance or the Horde within Meredil itself; they kept to themselves as the nightborne did. She couldn’t imagine one of them being here now unless it was to search for the First Arcanist.

“No,” came the response. “I’m just keeping an eye on things.”

She had no reason to challenge the statement, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t continue to pay attention. With a light lifting of her shoulders, Alyseia said, “Very well, then,” and continued her practice.

There was no shift in the air to alert Alyseia that her visitor was gone, but she left the silence sit while she practiced for a few moments more before turning again. “Was there something I could do for you?”

The blood elf started, as if surprised by Alyseia’s question, or maybe her attention had been elsewhere. “No--I apologize. I was...” she waved a hand in Alyseia’s general direction, and Alyseia felt an embarrassed flush creep up the back of her neck.

“I know it’s not very good, yet.” she admitted. “I haven’t been learning long, but I hadn’t had the chance to start until recently.”

“Have you ever fought before?”

The flush crept higher, and threatened to overtake Alyseia’s face. “No. I wasn’t...” she paused, considering how she wanted to phrase it, and decided on the truth, “...I wasn’t allowed to.”

There was a shift in the air, then, that Alyseia couldn’t have defined if asked, but it broke a line of tension between them, and the blood elf approached, holding out her hands for the daggers in Alyseia’s hands. It was only after a long beat of hesitation that Alyseia handed them over, and the blood elf set them on the nearest flat rock, looking for something on the ground and coming up with, oddly enough, two sticks.

“You can learn by practicing against the empty air,” she said, holding the two sticks in Alyseia’s direction, “but I very much doubt you plan to fight the empty air. You’ll do best with real daggers once you know about movement first. Attack me.”

The request smacked Alyseia in the face as surely as an actual strike, and briefly flummoxed, she repeated, “Attack you?”

“With those, of course,” the blood elf nodded towards the sticks now in Alyseia’s hands with a faint grin. “Until you can use blades.”

Shifting her feet, Alyseia put a long moment’s consideration into  _ how _ she could strike, but even with her most basic knowledge of weak points she knew she was aiming for a fatal blow--the chest or the throat. Alyseia moved, but got no closer than a single step forward before a hand on her arm and another on her opposite shoulder threw her off-balance, and she fell to the ground with a not-so-quiet  _ “Oof,” _

“A common first mistake.” A hand, gloved in red and gold, entered Alyseia’s field of vision, and she took it; the elf pulled Alyseia back to her feet easily with one tug. “But fighting like this often means you won’t get the easiest strikes, or the most direct ones--not unless you have the element of surprise. It’s easiest to draw blood, regardless of where, because with the loss of blood often comes a loss of logic and control. Even if you face a veteran combatant, they will eventually have to concern themselves with their blood loss.” Stepping away, she linked her hands at the small of her back. “Try again.”

She couldn’t strike the most obvious weak points she knew of, so instead Alyseia considered her options. An arm? A shoulder? A leg? The upper body would surely be easier to reach than the lower, unless...

Alyseia dove, but this time a hand on her collarbone easily shoved her away, and, frustrated, looked up to meet the blood elf’s calm veridian gaze. “You show your intent as clearly as if you’re telling it to me,” she said, offering her hand once again to pull Alyseia back up. “Surprise is your ally regardless if you strike from someone’s back or their front.”

“How can you see it?” Alyseia couldn’t help but ask.

“It’s less in where I see you look, and more in how I see you move.” she raised one golden brow. “When you turn your shoulders, shift your feet. You can still do those things, in fact it’s encouraged to throw your target off, but it’s only effective if you’re aware you’re doing it, and how.”

So Alyseia stood still, and didn’t move bar the twitching of her ear in Meredil’s quiet noise, the flutter of birds’ wings and the slap of water as nearby crocolisks hauled themselves onto the rocks at the shoreline. When she moved again, she dodged the elf’s first attempt to block her, and with the stick in her main hand, struck just below her ribs.

The stick snapped, and the sound felt like victory.

“A good start,” she said as Alyseia dropped the now-broken stick to the ground, “but it will take practice.”

“As all things do.” Alyseia sighed as she sat on the nearby rock, and saw Lucarys, at the entrance to Shal’aran, both brows raised higher than Alyseia had ever seen them.

“Well, well,” he said, holding a glass bottle in his hand that looked a great deal like arcwine, “perhaps there’s hope for you after all.”

“Perhaps there would be more hope if she was taught properly.” the elf’s tart retort was more a surprise than Lucarys’ admission, and Alyseia straightened.

Lucarys lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “No argument here. I still don’t know why anyone thought  _ I _ would be good at teaching anyone.”

“I should be going,” the blood elf said, after a brief glance at the sun’s position, “but perhaps we’ll cross paths again.”

“I don’t think I caught your name.” Alyseia rose to her feet again. “I’m Alyseia.”

“Valeera.” the blood elf--Valeera--didn’t offer a hand for shaking, but neither did Alyseia. “Watch your back, Alyseia.”

It wasn’t until Valeera disappeared that Lucarys said, “If you’ve lost my knives--”

“They’re right here.” Alyseia pointed at the rock nearby where Valeera had set them. “Before you turn to baseless accusations.”

Picking his daggers up, Lucarys spent what anyone else would’ve considered an abnormally long time examining them for flaws before sighing and sheathing them at his hips once again. “I won’t say today was a good day, but at least you’re better than you were earlier this week.”

“Earlier this week,” Alyseia pointed out, “I didn’t know how to hold a blade, much less attempt to use it.”

“And you still don’t.” Lucarys fixed her with a pointed look. “Don’t get any ideas, Alys.”

“I--”

Alyseia’s retort was interrupted by Thalyssra’s arrival, and the look on her face set a stone of dread within Alyseia’s stomach. “Lucarys, Alyseia--we need you at the Alliance and Horde camps. Immediately.”

“What if I was busy?” Lucarys countered. “What if  _ Alyseia _ was busy?”

“Lucarys,” Thalyssra’s voice held a warning, and the dread in Alyseia’s stomach sank lower, “now is not the time.”

“What’s happening?” Alyseia asked, before Lucarys could derail the conversation again.

“We are gathering our forces’ leadership for a final discussion of strategy.” Thalyssra’s face was grim, and her fingers tightened around her staff. “We are going to raid the Nighthold. Tomorrow.”


End file.
